O my God, make them like a wheel; as the stubble before the wind.”
(Psalm 83:13 KJV)
O’ Father please never let ‘Your’ root detach from our stem.
Wisdom was that very first tumbleweed,
Lest we forget Eve;
She produced both good fruit(s) and hollow seeds?
We’ve lost O’ so many seeds along life’s way,
Is it even necessary to give of ourselves and produce some of the same?
The environment encourages obstruction if she attempts to sow her seed,
For forty days and forty nights not a cloud in the sky nor rainbow in-sight,
Which causes chaos and disease in the tumbleweed, she breeds.
Leaving no room for an increase!
Nature frequents the winds, scattering the ‘African Tumbleweed’ and all her seeds,
Spinning them to and ‘fro’
Round and …show more content…
Passing through time,
The wind defines him,
Brown (earth), Red (blood), Orange (stimulation), Green (nature); and even sunshine Yellow,
Although you can’t see the winds torn asunder,
You can certainly hear his leaf in the storms that roll natures thunder.
Let them who have an ear; hear;
Yet see how this leaf wonders.
Is it a bird?
Is it a plane?
No, …show more content…
Drift on leaf,
Drift on!
Author: Renee’ B. Drummond-Brown
Dedicated To: ???
America was Raised on My Breast
“Thy two breasts are like two young roes that are twins, which feed among the lilies.”
(Song of Solomon 4:5 KJV)
I raised America on my breast and she never asked me nor said please?
All of her children gave suckling to my milk morning, noon and eve,
But she neither, either, thanked me nor said please?
My own children rode my back,
Simultaneously the life was being sucked from my breast while under massive attack,
But I ‘sang’ on: ‘Oh my soul gonna pick a bale of cotton’ until God ‘done’ turn that sun black.
But the Son will come out tomorrow,
And lighten the breast load of sorrows,
So I may begin to feed again and give suckling to those who unlawfully borrow,
O’ Home of the brave and land of the ‘Free’?
My milk was not for the taking; you took advantage of me?
I ache for my African man,
Who like our children; he too shares my breast throughout the lands?
But my soul still manages to find love the best that it can,
I still cry for ‘Freedom’ for the African man.
The African man couldn’t sip from the fountains back
(Psalm 83:13 KJV)
O’ Father please never let ‘Your’ root detach from our stem.
Wisdom was that very first tumbleweed,
Lest we forget Eve;
She produced both good fruit(s) and hollow seeds?
We’ve lost O’ so many seeds along life’s way,
Is it even necessary to give of ourselves and produce some of the same?
The environment encourages obstruction if she attempts to sow her seed,
For forty days and forty nights not a cloud in the sky nor rainbow in-sight,
Which causes chaos and disease in the tumbleweed, she breeds.
Leaving no room for an increase!
Nature frequents the winds, scattering the ‘African Tumbleweed’ and all her seeds,
Spinning them to and ‘fro’
Round and …show more content…
Passing through time,
The wind defines him,
Brown (earth), Red (blood), Orange (stimulation), Green (nature); and even sunshine Yellow,
Although you can’t see the winds torn asunder,
You can certainly hear his leaf in the storms that roll natures thunder.
Let them who have an ear; hear;
Yet see how this leaf wonders.
Is it a bird?
Is it a plane?
No, …show more content…
Drift on leaf,
Drift on!
Author: Renee’ B. Drummond-Brown
Dedicated To: ???
America was Raised on My Breast
“Thy two breasts are like two young roes that are twins, which feed among the lilies.”
(Song of Solomon 4:5 KJV)
I raised America on my breast and she never asked me nor said please?
All of her children gave suckling to my milk morning, noon and eve,
But she neither, either, thanked me nor said please?
My own children rode my back,
Simultaneously the life was being sucked from my breast while under massive attack,
But I ‘sang’ on: ‘Oh my soul gonna pick a bale of cotton’ until God ‘done’ turn that sun black.
But the Son will come out tomorrow,
And lighten the breast load of sorrows,
So I may begin to feed again and give suckling to those who unlawfully borrow,
O’ Home of the brave and land of the ‘Free’?
My milk was not for the taking; you took advantage of me?
I ache for my African man,
Who like our children; he too shares my breast throughout the lands?
But my soul still manages to find love the best that it can,
I still cry for ‘Freedom’ for the African man.
The African man couldn’t sip from the fountains back